


that's why it's hotter under the water

by basementhero



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Disney Songs, Fluff, M/M, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8107105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basementhero/pseuds/basementhero
Summary: Mid-way through conditioning his hair, Harry hears the tell-tale sound of someone else entering the room. The other student is humming, that much Harry can hear, but not loud enough to truly carry over the sound of the water beating down on Harry’s head and shoulders. He goes for the shower nearest the door, which is the second best in terms of effectively getting someone wet and rinsing away soap. Harry, of course, goes along with his shower without sparing any more thought to the other.
That was the plan, anyway. But he couldn’t exactly ignore the singing.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fairynarrytale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairynarrytale/gifts).



> for the prompt: "we're neighbours and we've never met, but I hear you singing Disney songs in the shower every morning and I may have accidentally shouted a request". also on my tumblr.

Harry gets in from his morning jog at just before seven in the morning. He feels accomplished, not only from his run but also because he’s fairly certain he’s worked out the best route to take—one that doesn’t have him coming across too many other early-morning joggers and gives him an excellent scenic tour of the outskirts of the university campus. He’s rather excited about the autumn, thinks of all the trees he runs underneath that will have their leaves turning glowing reds and oranges and yellows in just a few weeks.

He stops by his dorm room to grab a towel and switch out his running shoes for his shower flip flops before he approaches the bathroom. All of the young men on the floor have a space in the shower room for their various soaps and washcloths in a grid of yellow squares just across from the sinks. Harry has his things in the top row, second column from the right, in a purple shower basket that he picks up and takes with him to the middle shower. Their floor is fairly small, so they only have three showers in the men’s bathroom. The middle one has the best water pressure, so Harry takes advantage of his peers’ lazier sleeping habits and claims said superior shower.

Mid-way through conditioning his hair, Harry hears the tell-tale sound of someone else entering the room. The other student is humming, that much Harry can hear, but not loud enough to truly carry over the sound of the water beating down on Harry’s head and shoulders. He goes for the shower nearest the door, which is the second best in terms of effectively getting someone wet and rinsing away soap. Harry, of course, goes along with his shower without sparing any more thought to the other.

That was the plan, anyway. But he couldn’t exactly ignore the singing.

He doesn’t notice it at first, not when he’s so focused on the truly excellent feeling of a scalp massage, but it’s hard not to catch on.

“ _Under the sea_ ,” the other student sings far too loudly for someone who knows perfectly well that they’re not alone, “ _darling, it’s better down where it’s wetter, take it from me!_ ”

And he just…keeps singing. Complete with a decent rendition of Sebastian the crab’s accent. Harry stares at the wall between them; he’s not sure if he’s amused, irritated, or just confused. He doesn’t have time to decide, because the boy goes straight into “Poor Unfortunate Souls” without pausing for a second. Harry’s heard the whole soundtrack to _The Little Mermaid_ before he remembers that he’s supposed to be taking a shower and then grabbing breakfast before class. He’s reaching down to scrub frantically at the soles of his feet—sure, he’s wearing flip-flops, but he is still paranoid about the perils of fungus in communal showers—when the water shuts off next to him and the singing student gets out of his shower. Harry hears him humming “Kiss the Girl” until he’s exited the bathroom and the heavy door shuts behind him, leaving Harry to towel off and apologize to the environment for all the water he’s just wasted being flabbergasted by Disney songs.

He mostly forgets about the incident throughout the day. It was strange, of course, but not life-shattering.

Harry’s reminded of it two mornings later when he walks into the bathroom with his towel slung over his shoulder and is treated to an energetic rendition of “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” shouted over water. He recognizes the voice and maybe would be a bit happy to hear from him again if it wasn’t for the fact that the other boy has stolen Harry’s favorite shower.

“ _You must be swift as the coursing river! With all the force of a great typhoon_!”

_He’s no Donny Osmond_ , Harry thinks bitterly from under his subpar spray of water.

“ _With all the strength of a raging fire! Mysterious as the dark side of-_ ”

Harry purposefully knocks all of his soap bottles onto the tiled floor just in time to startle the singer out of his final note.

He doesn’t feel that bad about it. The silence is short-lived, anyway.

“Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow,” Harry grumbles just low enough that he doesn’t disturb the grudgingly impressive cover of “Reflections” his little shower performer has going to Harry’s left.

The next time Harry encounters the shower singer, he’s in a significantly better mood. It’s been five days, so Harry deduces that he’s encountering someone with an early-morning class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Two days a week of a fairly competent singer belting out Disney songs? Harry can cope with that. He can even appreciate it now that he’s moved his morning jog up fifteen minutes and should never lose out on his preferred shower stall again.

Weeks go by and prove Harry’s guess correct. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he’s joined in the bathroom by the Disney aficionado. He makes it through _Tarzan, Pocahontas, The Princess and the Frog_. Three different instances of _The Lion King_. His favorite is _Beauty and the Beast_ , has to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his laughter as the other does spot-on impressions of both Gaston and LeFou and then proceeds to be Cogsworth and Lumiere for “Be Our Guest.”

Harry wonders if maybe this guy is a drama student, with all of his impressions. He considers asking Louis—an annoying parasite he’d somehow picked up in his Intro to Psychology lecture—if he knows anyone who’s a bit obsessed with children’s animated movies, since Louis practically lives in the drama department, but something holds Harry back. He doesn’t want to say that he’s keeping this boy to himself, but…that’s sort of what he’s doing, if he’s honest. He’s worried Louis will want to hear for himself, or maybe he _will_ know the guy and it’ll turn out that they’re best friends and he won’t just be Harry’s…thing. Harry’s occasional morning entertainment.

Midterms week approaches and Harry’s whole building goes on overdrive trying to study to cram all of the information they haven’t learned into their heads. Harry feels very neutral about it. Casual, even. It helps that he’s not picked a major yet while all the panicking people around him seem to be engineers desperate to pass their physics lectures or biology majors trying to keep their medical school dreams alive. He definitely saw some suspicious pills exchange hands in his floor’s lounge between a bouncing economics major and a frantic-looking English student nearly buried under a pile of novels Harry was sure he’d heard the same person bragging about getting away with not reading just a few weeks ago.

So, with all of the commotion over exams, Harry’s not really surprised to get through his entire shower Tuesday morning completely alone in the bathroom. He assumes his usual company is either studying or passed out. He does hear the door open, though, a moment after he reaches out for his towel. The accompanying footsteps are slow and the water starts up without a song. Harry resumes his motion and dries off, gathers his things, pads over to the sinks to run a comb through his wet tangles.

“ _Proud of your boy, I’ll make you proud of your boy_ ,” the singing finally begins, but it’s very subdued—quiet, almost _broken_. “ _Believe me, bad as I’ve been, Ma, you’re in for a pleasant surprise._ ”

Harry starts to feel like maybe this arrangement hasn’t been a relationship and more like he’s been eavesdropping on someone’s private moments for two months. He frowns at his reflection. It’s not like he _chose_ to listen. Singing in a communal bathroom means that you expect that you’ll be overheard. There’s no privacy for _anything_.

Still, he feels like he should leave. This boy is clearly having an emotional breakdown, judging by how clogged his voice sounds—probably with tears, Harry thinks, and that makes him frown harder and he feels a dull ache in his chest for someone he’s never met.

“ _There’s no good reason that you should believe me, not yet, I know, but-_ ” His voice cracks. Harry wants to burst into the shower stall and pull him into a hug. “ _-someday and soon, I’ll make you proud of your boy, though I can’t make myself taller or smarter or handsome or wise…_ ”

Harry can’t listen any longer. He knows as soon that as soon as the song’s finished what he’ll be hearing is crying, and he can’t take it. He steps out of his squeaky shower shoes and tip-toes out of the bathroom, making sure to gently guide the door closed. He doesn’t return to his room yet. He stands outside of the bathroom until he hears the water stop rushing through the pipes overhead—he turns away two people with bleary eyes trying to use the facilities, won’t let even the harshest glare persuade him to let anyone potentially embarrass the boy inside.

Thursday is silent. Harry goes as slowly as he can and lingers in the room for an extra fifteen minutes, but he can’t wait indefinitely. The weekend passes by unbearably slowly.

He’s not sure what to expect when Tuesday comes around again. _Hercules_ , perhaps, isn’t very high on his list of possibilities, but it makes Harry grin.

“ _I will find my way; I can go the distance. I’ll be there someday, if I can be strong._ ”

He feels almost proud of this boy he’s never seen and never talked to. He’s overjoyed—relieved, even—that he can’t detect even a hint of sadness in the singer’s tone, that whatever was distressing him the week before was gone.

“ _I would go most anywhere to find where I belong_.”

The routine gets back on track. It’s funny, Harry thinks, that they’ve never crossed paths coming in or out of the showers. He considers orchestrating one such meeting, just so he can finally see the face of someone he sort of thinks he _knows_ , in a sense. He knows their taste in movies, at least, and knows that they take advantage of shower acoustics. He just…feels like they could be good friends, if they actually spoke.

He can’t decide what he thinks the other boy looks like. Maybe a tall, gangly beanpole with awkward limbs and a splattering of freckles. Maybe he’s short and hasn’t grown out of his baby fat and has a mop for hair. He’s definitely seen every resident of his floor at least once in passing; he’s certain of it. He just doesn’t know which is the culprit. The most likely candidate in Harry’s eyes is the studious brunet two doors down from him. The idea relies entirely on a conversation he overheard about Toy Story between the guy and, presumably, his roommate—a skinny kid with fading blond hair and who never seems to be without some sort of snack. Harry can imagine that someone as intense as Leo—Levi? Leeroy?—would have been stressed enough about midterms to break down in the shower. The only person Harry’s absolutely sure is _not_ the singer is his own roommate, Zayn-with-a-y, who couldn’t get out of bed before eleven if his mattress was on fire.

Harry lets his curiosity go, though, and doesn’t shatter the illusion by purposefully timing his exit from his showers to coincide with the singer’s. He figures if it’s meant to happen, it will on its own—fate, and all that.

He’s shampooing to the lovely sound of _Sleeping Beauty_ when he maybe fucks everything up.

“ _But if I know you, I know what you’ll do! You’ll love me at once-_ ”

Harry pulls a Prince Phillip without even consciously deciding to. “ _The way you did once upon a dream_ ,” he croons back totally accidentally.

Silence, except for the water. Harry gapes at the wall, soap suds running down his face, convinced he has committed some sort of atrocious breach of trust.

“It’s your line,” he hears from the other side, the first time he’s heard the other boy speak.

Harry smiles awkwardly, even though he can’t be seen. “ _I know you_ …”

From then on, they form a tentative duo. Harry’s not sure at first if he’s supposed to pretend that their first duet had never happened, but there’s an expectant pause in the other’s performance of “I See the Light” that’s clearly an invitation for Harry to play the Eugene to his Rapunzel. Harry joins in on nearly everything after that, harmonizing and trying not to fall over laughing when the boy in the other shower does a particularly good impression or turns a perfectly good Disney ballad into a strange rap number.

Fate intervenes on their last shower before the winter break. Harry’s just grabbing his shower caddy from his shelf when the bathroom door opens and in strolls in the snacking blond roommate of the guy Harry had thought was his singing partner. Harry’s not upset to be wrong. He matches the blond’s face-splitting grin instinctively.

“I’m Niall,” the shorter boy says.

“Harry.” He moves out of the way so that Niall can get to wherever his shelf is.

“I know.” At Harry’s questioning look, Niall gives a tiny, unapologetic shrug. “I’m good with names.”

Harry heads to his favorite shower. He considers waiting for Niall before turning the water on, but decides that it would be weird. Everything feels unexpectedly stiff and unnatural, waiting around for Niall to start his own shower so they can sing together. It makes no sense, Harry realizes. It’s bizarre. Now that there’s no mystery, it feels silly to think that he plans his mornings twice a week around a little blond singing Disney songs in the shower.

“You okay?” Niall calls over the water when Harry doesn’t join in on “Bibbiti-Bobbiti-Boo.”

Shaking the awkwardness forcibly away from his thoughts, Harry stands up straighter and reaches for his loofah. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking. Start over?”

All of Harry’s showers at home over the holiday are too quiet and tinged with worry because he doesn’t know if he’ll ever hear from Niall again, doesn’t know what the boy’s schedule will be for the spring semester or if he might be changing dorms. He hopes, though, that maybe Niall has enjoyed their mornings as much as he had—that maybe Niall will make sure they can continue.

On Monday after Harry returns to campus, he hears the bathroom door open in the middle of his shower routine. He decides to take a chance.

“ _I can show you the world, shining, shimmering, splendid. Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?_ ”

He keeps going, hears the other person grab their things and make their way over to one of the free showers. If he wasn’t singing, Harry would have been holding his breath in anticipation.

“ _No one to tell us no, or where to go, or say we’re only dreaming_ …”

“ _A whole new world_ ,” Niall joins in on cue, “ _a dazzling place I never knew_.”

Harry smiles so wide his cheeks hurt.

***

“This is definitely against the rules,” Harry points out as he turns on the water.

Niall rolls his eyes and pushes Harry to the side so he can get his hair wet. “Live a little! We’re not doing anything gross.”

Harry smirks lecherously, grabs at Niall’s hips and tugs until Niall’s back is pressed all along Harry’s front. “Aren’t we?” he teases.

Niall blushes, but chooses to ignore the implications—and the very physical evidence at his back—and instead reaches for Harry’s fancy shampoo. He lathers some onto his hands and turns himself around so he can start working the soap into Harry’s wet curls. The butterflies in his stomach go crazy for the way Harry’s smile softens, even though it’s a look he’s seen at least a million times already.

“ _All my life has been a series of doors in my face, and then suddenly I bump into you_ ,” he begins lowly, using the soap to style Harry’s hair into a floppy mohawk.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Harry says energetically, “’cause like _I’ve been searching my whole life to find my own place_.”

Harry lets go of Niall so he can get shampoo as well and massage it into Niall’s newly re-dyed hair. He can’t say he’s not pleased with the way Niall’s eyes flutter closed with a small little moan. Harry does have excellent fingers.

“ _And it’s nothing like I’ve ever known before_ ,” they harmonize, both giggling at their sudsy heads and general happiness at being together.

“Can I say something crazy?” Harry asks on time when their singing fades out, looking Niall confidently in the eyes.

He gets an affirmative nod. He’s supposed to say “Will you marry me?”, which would of course be just a regurgitation of the line from the song and not a genuine question (even if maybe Harry can kind of picture he and Niall in matching tuxes and rings in a massive cathedral covered in flowers).

Instead, he goes for “I love you.”

“Can I say something even crazier?” Niall chimes, practically glowing with joy and affection.

Harry nods encouragingly. He’s nervous, of course, because it’s probably a little too soon for love declarations and he might have just ruined everything, but Niall looks so _happy_ that he’s almost certain he’s going to hear—

“I love you too,” Niall proclaims.

Harry gets a bit too enthusiastic with the celebratory kissing. He tries to back Niall up against the wall so they both have something to lean on for support, but the plan sort of backfires when he slips on the wet floor and sends them both sprawling painfully to the ground.

“This might be why joint showers are against the rules,” Niall groans.

Harry winces as they try to untangle their limbs. “I think my back is broken.”

“I think my _ass_ is broken.”

Harry reaches out with his foot to turn the faucet with his big toe until the water turns off. They lay there on the floor, bodies and egos bruised, until eventually someone strolls into the bathroom looking to relieve themselves and is surprised by the sight of two of their floormates sticking out of the shower, naked and possibly injured. It’s Liam that finds them, and he just laughs.


End file.
